what starry eyes know
by Antilochus
Summary: an AU take on Walkabout: Prince John destroys Nottingham. Marian wakes up in the outlaw's camp injured from smoke inhalation, with memories of the castle burning. With the devastation of the shire at hand, no one will - or can - tell her if Guy survived.


This was a gift for betty_eyes in the 2010 GuyxMarian Secret Santa on livejournal. I am not overly fond of the title, but it needed one, stat, and that's the song I had been listening to on repeat while writing. You can find the song, by Neon Hitch, on youtube. I love it3

(And please note: as the summary already made clear, there's spoilers for _Walkabout._)

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

Nottingham was on fire.

Prince John's agent was dissatisfied with Vaizey and Gisborne's most recent performances, the failure of the Black Knights, so he let his men torch the castle, locking the gates and most of the people inside. With help from the outlaws, they'd managed to break the doors open, but Marian was terrified that others were left inside, and ran back in.

She moved from room to room, checking to make sure that any occupants had fled, screaming for replies, but the further she got into the castle, the more distant the shouting below became. The smoke grew thick. The last thing she heard, before falling to her knees, was her own name.

When she awoke, sunlight dazzled ahead. She wasn't dead. She heard familiar voices, and turned to see two large shapes cutting dark figures in the light. She stirred and knocked something over, which caught their attention. Two men rushed over to help her into a sitting position.

She coughed. Her throat and chest felt heavy. She tried to sit up, but it only made her head spin. Frustrated, she flopped back down into the pillow, and took in her surroundings, but everything was blurry.

Dimly, she became aware that her helpers were Little John and Much, which was a kind relief. There was a lot of green, and there was a breeze. She decided she must be in the forest, and apparently on a stretcher (that explained the pillow). She propped herself up on her elbows, but the skin stung at the contact, and Much cried in worry, causing Little John to scold him. The bickering was welcome, and she raised her hand to touch each of their faces, as she figured she couldn't quite manage a hug without falling. Oh, she'd missed her friends.

And then she remembered why she was here, and what had just happened. Fear darkened in her.

"Are you all alive?" she asked, her voice coming out in a rasp. "Everyone in the gang?"

Their triumphant smiles and nods relaxed her, but they didn't assuage all of her worry. She became more frantic.

"Did everyone else get out in time? All the women, all the children, the men…"

Little John shushed her, and told her that they'd saved as many as they could. It wasn't an answer, and her eyes burned with unshed tears, that she forced herself to bite down. A cool cloth to the forehead wore her down, and she blinked, wearily, into the blue eyes of a third nurse.

"Guy?" she asked quietly, her voice croaking a bit, knowing she wasn't supposed to ask. He was the last person she'd spoken to that day; he'd been trying to pull her to safety, but she'd broken free of his arms and rushed back to the castle, his pleas and screams following her into the smoke. If he didn't die, there was a chance he could have been taken prisoner. She didn't know if, as a Black Knight, he'd be spared. Prince John didn't seem to think too kindly of his special order nowadays.

But her nurse shook his head, and hope folded up within her.

Her head seemed to swell with the pressure, and tears stung her eyes. _No, that wasn't possible_. He wasn't a good man, but he was… she had never wanted his death. An ache started in her heart, and burned its way up her throat, so she couldn't breathe. She crawled onto her side, and shook off her friends' hands, and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to give in to sleep, to block out thought.

* * *

Cold water splashed over her, jolting her awake. She kicked off her shoes and rose with a start, feeling dizzy and nauseous at the movement. Grasping the edge of the bed for balance, she looked around for her attacker, and saw Djaq, Allan, and Will standing around her with unimpressed expressions.

"What the hell was that for?" she gasped, her voice still toadlike. She blinked again, surprised to see that Allan was there. Weren't they all still angry at each other?

"You can't sleep forever," Djaq clucked, "A few days is pushing it, really."

She spluttered. "A few days?"

"Sleeping and moaning and refusing to wake up. It's all very honorable but you're better than this, and Robin's worried."

"Where is he?"

"Out ministering hope to the masses, I s'ppose," chirped Allan, earning a few glares from his compatriots. He flinched, suitably chastised. "Oy, sorry, guess I'm still under probation,"

"Right, so," continued Will, "You're going to start living like a person again, and stop refusing food, and start talking to people. Nottingham needs to be rebuilt, there's a lot of work to do,"

* * *

She learned Nottingham's fate by listening to her friends. The destruction was unimaginable. Many peasants had perished in the fire, some local merchants, guards, and a few nobles, including the daughter of a country knight, who had once been kind to her. Those who had managed to escape fled to the woods and hid or walked to neighboring shires, looking for relatives. Will had sent a message with some folk headed towards Scarborough, to let his brother know he was still alive, but it had been a risk to do so, revealing things about the gang, and he was worried they wouldn't find Luke.

Vaizey was dead; that much was certain. His body had been found. She didn't want to know details, but drank the hot brew Djaq prepared for her, and watched the leaves fall. A feeling of unease settled upon her where she should have felt elation, or at least calm, at the news. If Nottingham were razed, then there was little to fear from killing him. She couldn't pretend she would have been glad to see him continue haunting people, but there was something wretched in taking pleasure in a man's death, nonetheless, especially when she thought of that fire. She knew how painful it had been.

When she asked about Guy again, she was met with silence. Finally, Allan spoke, sharp and crude. If Guy were safe, then no one had taken the time to find out. Her eyes met his, and they shared a quiet moment of understanding. No one else would mourn Guy but them two, if even them. She felt sick to her stomach, angry, and her eyes threatened to spill again, but Djaq clucked and said it must be an after-effect of the smoke inhalation, sparing her the embarrassment (oh, she could laugh at _that_) of crying for such an evil man.

It was a few nights until she saw Robin again. He'd been working himself thin, trying to help coordinate and counsel the refugees now living in the trees. She felt guilty for her jealousy and anger, that he had not been near her, and then guilty, that he had mandated at least two of the gang at a time stay back at camp, to nurse her to health and watch Allan.

Her reunion with Robin was sharp, and brief. The look in his eyes was one she had only seen rarely before; the tired, angry look, twisted and snarled from the inside. She'd seen it in his eyes during her wedding to Guy, when she'd almost died. Much gave Robin and her a wide berth, but kept his eye on Robin at all times, like a mother hawk. She wondered if this version of Robin was the man Much knew on Crusade, the one he tried so often, so hard to hide. A soldier can leave the war, but the war never leaves the soldier.

He talked of the families he now had to care for, the lives lost. His anger that the knights had taken the time to rescue horses and livestock from the blaze, but then bolted down the very stables where they had been kept, locking the people inside.

He said he'd seen Prince John, and sent an arrow his way, but it had only nicked his face. She gasped, picturing the moment in her head, and held his shaking hands through the story, but he never seemed to warm to her.

There was one question she had to ask, that had plagued her, that was rising up between them. If she could put it aside, she could think more clearly, she could comfort him as he deserved to be comforted. Summoning her courage, she interrupted a lull of silence between them, and gently broached the subject. Had he seen Guy?

But the darkness that fell over Robin's eyes worried her more than a negative answer, than proof.

"None of the others - they say that they haven't heard," she explained, "But it doesn't make sense. I was deeper in the castle than he was, and you found me, but no one knows if he's alive."

And there, as she spoke the words, came an accusation she hadn't meant, but she realized had been simmering beneath the surface. That someone had found Guy. That that someone was the same person who had found her. That only one of them had been saved. Her hand flew to her mouth, and before she could apologize, Robin spoke.

"I found you, and I saw him, but I couldn't carry you both. I made a choice," he said, and the tone seemed conciliatory, but she figured that was mostly for her benefit. There was never any choice; for her, it would have been to save them both. She understood Robin's logic, understood why he hadn't supplied this information earlier, or told any of the gang (for they wouldn't have hidden it from her, would they?). She understood, far too well. She understood that this would stand between them forever.

Things were quieter between her and Robin after that. Marian was quieter in general, and kept her own counsel, more than before. If any of the others noticed, they failed to comment. The days passed, and the practical concerns of life took precedence.

As she healed, and the risk of infection lessened, Djaq gave her permission to roam about, and to travel with the group to the refugee camps, wearing a disguise, to give aid. Even though Lady Marian Fitzwalter was no longer a person of power in Nottingham, with a sheriff to fear, it wouldn't be unheard of for someone to put a price on her head, to kidnap her and try to ransom her to a local abbey or lord, who might take pity on a downtrodden noblewoman. Or, and they all feared, Vaizey might have told Prince John his suspicions of her, and if the prince realized she were alive, he might try to silence her for the spy she was.

She protested the scarf they made her wear, for Robin didn't have to, and surely he had a greater price on his head, but Robin put up such a fuss over it, she acceded. She didn't need him on her case right now, and _surely_ he had more important things to do than to worry about her, so if it set his mind at ease, then good.

The camps drained all of her energy and spirits. Despite the scarf, there were many who recognized her from the castle or her trips to the villages. She kept looking for people from Knighton, and didn't know whether to hope or despair when she couldn't find them. Not many people knew about Knighton's fate, but not many people ever travelled to that village.

She asked quietly whether any had heard of Guy's fate, for surely it was possible that someone might have spirited him away, but her questions were always met with hostility or confusion. Those who recognized her as the Lady Marian seemed sympathetic, for they seemed to assume that there was a friendship or more between her and their former lord, but few of them seemed to care about his fate, either, even for her sake. A few people told her to give up entirely, that if he had perished, there would be no body to find.

But she recalled his hands on hers, earlier in that day, the urgency in his voice as he knelt before her and begged her to marry him, and flee together. She remembered the taste of his tears as she kissed his cheek, his nose, and the corners of his eyes, and told him she would not go. And she recalled the animal sound of terror escaping his throat when she ran back into the castle, that final time.

Every answer, denying knowledge, gave her more and more determination. It was still possible he had survived, and she had to find him.

A few Sundays out, she convinced the others to let her and Allan get away. Those in camps still honored mass on Sundays, through a makeshift church in the woods, one that Will was helping to design, and Robin and Much and Little John were looking for a good preacher among the dispersed. It looked more and more like the villagers were thinking of Sherwood as a permanent home, and she couldn't entirely begrudge them. They were afraid to return, and for many of them, their homes were burnt to the ground. And Robin was here, and people trusted him - _really_ trusted him. For the first time, many of them felt they had a leader they could depend on. She smiled, wryly, thinking that he finally could be a lord again, but she still had trouble thinking of herself here, as a lady. So it was a Sunday she chose, as a time when she could get away. And if she had any ally in mischief, whether he liked it or no, it was Allan.

They searched for a cave where she had kept a spare of the Nightwatchman's disguise; she convinced the others she needed him to help her check storage places because she was still a bit weak, but truly, it was because she wanted him in on her plan. And, if she would admit it to herself, she didn't know if she could defend herself, as her healing was ongoing. Checking storage places was a necessary and potentially dangerous, though time-consuming, task. With the forest being peopled now, even their hiding places were no longer secure. There were more than just refugees in the woods – there were rival bandit gangs, too, or people desperate enough to resort to banditry. A few of Robin's food stores had been looted, but more troubling, so had some of his weapons stores. They'd been double checking and relocating some of their more precious possessions ever since, the Pact of Nottingham chief among them, but none could be too sure.

When they got to Marian's cave, Allan pointed out that it had been recently visited. There was scattered debris, seeds and bones on the floor – signs of a recent meal, maybe by an animal, maybe by a human animal. Luckily, her clothes were way in the back, and if anyone had found them, they had decided there wasn't much use for them, anyway. It cheered her a little, oddly; if the visitors were starving, then they might have tried to eat the leather, and she found no teeth marks. Some of the people who they'd seen recently had been to that brink. She shuddered, and folded the clothes in half.

"You know, if you needed pants and a mask, we coulda hooked you up, no problem," Allan chirped from the cave's mouth, totally unimpressed. "Obviously you wanted to talk to me about something, or you wouldn't have asked me out, so out with it."

Good ol' Allan a'Dale, always to the point.

"One, I wanted the clothes because they're mine, and nothing else seems to be anymore," she said, straightening up, "Two, the return of a local do-gooder might raise some spirits, so having a memorable disguise does help, if it's remembered, and three, I want to go to Knighton and I want to find Guy."

Allan stared at her long and hard, then back out at the sky. "That's four," he said absently, "And you're mental. We've got a good thing here, you know that? You know how bloody long it took to get me back into the fold, do you?"

His annoyance blistered her, and she set her teeth. "You know I wouldn't be alive without Guy,"

"Yeah, and you'd probably still have a house without him, too," Allan chirped, and she looked askance.

"I'm not absolving him of all his crimes, but I'm just saying he deserves to be found; anyone would, if there were a chance they were still alive."

"Anyone?" He asked, mocking.

She huffed. "Fine, I need to find him, and you can help or not, but you know you should, because it's the right thing to do. Because he tried to save us both back there, and if he is dead," her voice wavered, "Then the least we can do is give him a Christian burial."

Allan made a sound, blowing his lips, and rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that," he said, and stalked off. She yelled at him as he went, but he only waved his hand at her, like he was brushing off an insect.

The next day, he woke her early, just at the break of dawn, with her set of leathers in his hand, and a small pouch of jerky and skein of water.

"What's all this?" she asked, and he put a finger to her lips, to remind her of silence. He beckoned, and she followed him out of the camp, to listen.

"Listen, it's like this, I'll help you find out what happened, but you have to promise me, you'll tell Robin I was doing something productive, like saving a prioress from drowning, something responsible like that," he whispered, and a grin exploded on her face. She thanked him with a hug, which he valiantly fought against, but eventually succumbed to.

"We'll start with Knighton," she announced, and he nodded, expecting this.

After stuffing her Nightwatchman clothes into a small pack, and taking a pair of bows and quivers with arrows, they made off. The others wouldn't worry about them, since they'd been out together yesterday. Maybe everyone would just think that they got a good head start on work for the day. Whatever the case, she was thrilled to be going, and tingled with anticipation of what they might find.

* * *

The rope cutting into his hands didn't bother him as much as the thirst. He eyed the canteen at his rider's side briefly, but turned away, afraid to be seen wanting, and perceived as weak. They'd given him a cup of water in the morning, to keep him going, and that was it. He'd been forced to watch as the Jasper's men polluted the pond. God, that was so childish. Even if they were leaving the shire in two days, they needed water just as much as the next people.

Jasper must have seen his expression, because he rode over and leaned down, to be face to face with his captive.

"See something upsetting to you, my lord, Gisborne?"

But Guy was proud to a detriment, even in captivity. He wouldn't let on that this is the ancestral home of his once-intended bride, that what they did there was nothing compared to what he'd done to it, and that he couldn't express in words all the fury this moment engendered in him. So he glared, stiffly, just for a moment, and then turned his head. His throat was still hoarse and aching; it hurt to speak. His captors could interpret that reticence as pride, and he was fine with that.

"Oh, I'm sure there's something," Jasper tutted, pulling himself back up before riding away to attend to some matter with his advisers.

Three weeks and a day since he'd last seen Marian alive. He had heard whisperings that she'd gone to the forest, and it agonized him – both the thought of her with Hood, and the thought that the rumors were wrong, that she was dead. It would be better if she were with Hood, he convinced himself, and found himself praying for that option, something he thought he'd never do.

Captivity did not suit him well, that much was evident. He'd ceased asking what the point of this was, why they didn't kill him – Vaizey had perished in the blaze, after all, and they could have left Guy to die of his injuries – but he'd been nursed back to health, of sorts, and was going to be presented to the prince. Whatever sort of punishments lay in wait for him there, he didn't want to think on. Perhaps the prince liked his mice live to play with, before he killed them. Vaizey had always said that they'd gotten along well, after all.

His guard tied him up to a post, and then dismounted, leaving him with the horses as he joined the other knights in a house for their meeting. Apparently Guy was such a low-level flight risk, he didn't even warrant guarding here. He supposed he should be insulted, but he could see the point. He was too weak to get far on foot, and had nowhere to go, anyway, unless it was to search for Marian, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Maybe if he could get a pardon from the prince, he could come back and look for her properly, with swords and men. Despondent, he waited. When the knights were out of sight, he approached the on the furthest left, the closest to the forest. He'd wanted to know if this horse still remembered him – she should, she was Marian's; stolen from his stables the day that they were invaded. Isolde; why Marian had named his betrothal gift for a faithless, lovesick heroine, he didn't want to know. She had still accepted him at the time, and that was something. He still felt attachment to the beast; it didn't gladden him at all to see Prince John's knights riding her, when her true owner may lay dead somewhere, at their doing, but wouldn't reveal his true connection to the horse in public. He didn't need to test their wrath.

Tentatively, he proffered his hand to her, in a gesture of friendship. Giant eyes and a broad, soft nose inspected him, to probably looking for something to eat. When no food was proffered, Isolde lost interest. Well, that was something.

_What if he stole her?_ It might be considered a capital offense, but he was already dead, and anyway, he'd paid for her the first time. If he could get her loose, at least, she could break his own restraints, and he might have a real shot at getting away.

It must have been thirst, or something, addling his thoughts, that he would even try, because the arrogance of the knights to leave him without a guard was too unbelievable to be trusted. But his hands were working at the knot fastening his wrists to the post, before he could think more clearly…

* * *

There were about a dozen knights assembled in Knighton when she and Allan arrived, wearing the gold lion crest of the Plantagenet prince. Marian and Allan crouched behind some brush at the edge of the woods, right where the trees opened up to the clearing where Knighton lay. When she caught sight of Jasper, her blood sang with rage. Her fingers were just itching over her shoulder, to the feathered shafts slung on her back, when Allan grabbed her wrist, to remind her of her place. "Don't be fucking stupid," he hissed, and she yanked her arm away from his, but did not nock an arrow.

This was her family home, and her enemies were crawling over it. Couldn't she do something? Couldn't the prince's knights at least leave Knighton to her misery, they had to pollute it, and turn it into their barracks? Just as she'd feared, there were no villagers here. There weren't any signs of mass graves, or funeral pyres, though, and sick to her stomach, she had to admit that at least was promising. The individual houses looked untouched, all aside from the one. She wanted to go inside, and see what kinds of signs of life were left, if anyone had left any clues as to where they'd gone.

The knights moved in tandem towards one of the larger houses, leaving their horses behind, and a prisoner too, it seemed. Something struck her as off; the prisoner's back was turned, his head was bent, but the figure looked familiar, somehow. She looked to Allan, and gestured, to get his opinion. It wasn't another moment until the prisoner stood up straight and turned his face.

It was him. Guy. Alive, here, in Knighton. Her world shifted a little under her feet as she realized she wasn't dreaming, and overcome with emotion, she grabbed onto Allan. He must have been just as surprised as her, though, for he wasn't much support. When she saw her palfrey as the one Guy was cozying up to, she shook Allan's arm, and he ended up collapsing right under her. Their mutual leaf and branch crunching must have been loud, because a dog looked up at them, and they each became still for a moment, waiting for it to change its mind.

She allowed herself to breathe, taking the sight of him in. He was alive, and wretched and beautiful, and _Mary forgive her_, but she was happy to see her horse, even if she had named the mare for sorrow. Marian felt giddy, irresponsibly so, and terribly worried about his fate. She had to get him out of here, she knew that, and now seemed as good a time as any, but she couldn't just walk up and break him out, could she? It was a fair 20 paces to where he was standing, and they wouldn't be able to make it unless they took one of the horses. Easier said than done, she didn't know when the knights would come back out, and any noise was sure to meet with alarm.

But the longer she watched Guy, the greater her longing, and the more urgent her need to free him. Knowing he was alive wasn't enough; she had no idea what was going to happen to him, and he didn't look well. They had to talk. She couldn't leave him here. He must have had the same idea, because he was started to work on the ropes tethering him to the horse post. A smile crooked her face, and she drew up her mask. Allan, at the corner of her vision, started to make negating gestures to her, like he sensed her intent and thought it a bad idea, but she knew what she was going to do.

She had only loaded her bow, hoping that she would only need to provide Guy some cover while he escaped, when a knight stepped out of the house being used as a meeting hall, apparently for personal business. She held her breath, watching, to see if he would notice, but of course he did. As soon as his hand met the hilt of his sword, she let an arrow sink into his bicep.

Oh, how he screamed.

Allan cursed her under his breath, and the hall rose up in clatter. Guy, sensing the change, and not blinking to wonder where his savior had come from, stole a knife from the twitching knight, and cut through some of the ropes.

What had she done? She wasn't sure if she'd meant to kill him and missed, or if she'd been merciful all along, but it wasn't the most tactful move. But there wasn't time to think. More knights poured out, Jasper along with them, and Allan joined her this time, as she shot them, to keep them away from Guy, who was struggling to get the last loops, and throw himself onto Isolde's back.

This was insane. At this rate he would die, and the knights would come after her and Allan, and this whole thing would be a loss.

"Cover me," she barked, "I'll meet you at the cave."

Before Allan could protest, she ran out into the field. She shot a fair-haired man in the hand as he tried to load a crossbow. Whether he liked it or not, Allan covered her from the hedge, giving her enough time to reach Guy. She knelt, to help push him up onto the horse, but it was with great effort, and he had to use her body as a stepping stool to climb. It made her wobble. They were going to die at any minute now, could he be any less graceful?

Frantic, and worried she wouldn't get out, she threw herself onto Isolde in front of him, grasped the reins, and tore off into the bushes, towards a forest path she knew. Guy, bless him, trusted his masked savior enough not to fight. He threw his rope-bound hands over her neck and shoulders, encircling her waist, so he could hold on as they galloped. She heard him groan, suddenly, and hoped it was just a tree branch that they rode over, and not anything horrible like a knife landed in his thigh.

They rode for what seemed like hours, going in serpentine paths, backtracking over water, anywhere, to lose their tail, before they finally neared the cave. Panic struck her as she realized she might have endangered some of the camps, but she reminded herself that she had tried to steer away from them. And she knew that was a comfort more than anything. She just hoped that those knights gave up, and that Allan did them enough damage to slow them down.

When they were finally in an area she liked, she led Isolde to a tree, and tied the reins to a low branch, to secure her. Marian turned in Guy's hands, to see how he was doing. His jaw was set, as though he was in pain, and his eyes burned brightly into hers – mad and dangerous. He didn't know her. Tremulous, she unfastened the water skein from her belt, and raised it to his cracked lips to drink, holding it for him, as his hands were still trapped, and taking her down meant taking him down too. She almost wished she'd gone in without the stupid mask, so she wouldn't have to worry about this conversation, but knew if she had, then the knights would have known she was alive.

He drank gratefully, draining the skein, but watching her all the time. She couldn't believe she was here with him, alive. Little rivulets of water dripped down his neck and she raised her hand to smooth them away, but recalled her place, and grasped the end of the skein, to take back.

"Do you have any more?" he rasped, and her heart lurched in her chest at the sound. She wasn't ready to reveal her identity just yet, so she shook her head.

He licked his lips and nodded. She hesitated, then turned away to tie it back at her waist. She would simply lift his hands over her head, scoot off, and then let him dismount, hands tied. And then she would…escape, leaving him hopefully with Allan, change clothes, and come back as Marian to explain. It would work.

Except that before she could slip the cord under her waistband, his hands at her waist tightened, and he rolled off the horse, dragging her down with him. The ground knocked the wind out of her, and Isolde whinnied and reared in fright while Guy muttered some nonsense about not leaving Prince John's executioners just to be taken by Hood's. Guy rolled them away from the horse, to avoid the hooves slamming into the ground, while Marian caught her breath and tried to wrestle away. But even weak, and hell, so was she, he was bigger and stronger than her, and the knots on his wrists were an unfair advantage, providing a barrier she couldn't just smash against. Though she tried, slamming her back into his hands, again and again while he bit his lip against the pain, and finally, tried to flatten her.

What he did next thoroughly surprised her, so much so that she didn't fight back for a moment, just totally frozen. His head dipped near her ear, and then she felt his teeth on her skin, as he bit into the straps of her mask, and pulled it up.

No, no, she wasn't ready for this yet. She squished her eyes closed in protection, and squirmed, lashing out with her legs, her fingers – her arms were pinned – but she heard his gasp, and knew the damage had been done. He leaned back on his heels, lifting her up with him, his arms still around her waist. Her arms freed, she tore off the bottom portion of her mask, so she could breathe clearly again.

"Look at me," he commanded, and slowly she opened her eyes. The pain was palpable in his expression, and that ache she'd felt for him before, when he was missing, when she saw him in Knighton, was awakened again.

"Lift up your arms," he ordered, and she did, straight up. Gingerly, he lifted the circle of arms that was around her, and she stared into his eyes, as his fingers rose up, and did not grace her hips, her waist, her back, shoulders, head, or any part of her. He held his hands between them, and reneging on her original plan, to wait until Allan got back, she pulled a knife from her boot, and cut the ropes.

"You lied to me," he said, as though this explained everything.

"I think you know why," she responded gravely, and could hear the rumbling of the ocean in her ear.

"Hood?" he spat, and her best friend's name on his lips was a curse.

"He is not the reason I did this," she said, gesturing to her costume, "But he is very dear to me," she confessed, and raised her hand to his brow, but he flinched, "And so are you. Guy, I couldn't rest, while you were away. After the fire, I thought you…"

Her voice cracked, whether from emotion, or because she was still recovering, she did not know. She watched as a hundred emotions unfolded on his face, from anger to tenderness, and most horribly, grief. And then his eyes darkened, and she was confused, even a bit afraid.

"Have you given yourself to him?" Guy asked, and his voice sent pinpricks down her spine. She could feel her face heat, and she quickly averted her gaze. She thought of the proposal in the woods, and it seemed ages ago. She thought of their time spent recently, how distant Robin had seemed, how if she were presumed dead by the world, they should have just gotten on with it already. And then she wondered, if by now they hadn't, would they…

"No," she said softly, daring to look Guy in the eye this time, feeling her heart beat thud and her mouth dry as she spoke. "No, I am a maid."

And suddenly Guy was crushing his lips against hers, and she opened her mouth, accepting his kiss wolfishly. The ache seemed never to have left her, and it flared within her. She pressed her torso into his, slid her hips down into his lap, and they rocked together. He stretched upwards, and she followed, her lips never leaving his as she lifted the hem of his shirt up his body, breaking only when the fabric passed his mouth, to get it over his head. He rolled it into a ball, and leaned her back, stuffing it into the ground beneath her head and laying kisses up and down her neck as his hand roamed beneath her waistband. She clawed at his back, and bit his shoulder to muffle her screams.

They made love until her legs shook, and his arms were weak.

* * *

Thunder beat in her heart as her body cooled. He buried his head in her neck, and she rubbed circles over his back and arms, trying to calm herself down.

"Allan should've been here by now," she said softly, and Guy snorted at that.

"What for?" he asked, in a voice dripping with exhaustion. _Did he not understand?_

She pushed him off, and he rolled over, his earlier peace curling back into something snarled.

"Allan? Guy, he helped me rescue you," she said sharply, "He was supposed to rendezvous with us here, and now I'm worried something's gone wrong. Don't look at me like that, we're going back for him."

She started to get up to dress, finding her clothes rumpled beneath them. Guy needed something to drink, part of his exhaustion wasn't just the exertion (though, she blushed, it had been a substantial part). She wished she'd brought a rag or a towel of some sort…

"Marian," the hoarse voice called up to her, and she turned to look at Guy, covering up her bits and pieces with clothing, and feeling slightly ridiculous as she did. But he didn't even smile, and so she knew something was terribly wrong.

"I just found you, we just…I don't want to lose you already," he pleaded, and she knelt beside him. This was all too weird, they'd definitely gone about it wrong. But the deed was done, and her body still sang to be beside him, and she still felt joy, to have him near. She didn't want to deny him, she wanted to lay here and not get up again, but the price he asked was too high.

Instead, she laid a kiss to his lips, and fought a tightening in her chest. She pulled back, and spoke firmly. "We're going."

He growled, and tried to restrain her as she rose, but she turned her face away when he tried to kiss her again. With a heavy sigh, he withdrew.

They bickered for a while, until finally he agreed to follow her lead. She did know where there was some water, after all, and he didn't want to let her out of his sight. That meant compromise. On her end, it meant allowing him to accompany her back to the outlaw camp instead of sitting and waiting in the cave, and lost in the woods, as far as he was concerned, in her own secret hiding place. Like an invalid or a baby, he countered, and she threw up her hands and gave up that dream. The condition was he had to wear a blindfold, because she knew her friends would throw a fit if he knew how to get back. Even though he was no longer in the sheriff's employ, and essentially at their mercy, anyway.

The ruckus when they returned to camp was enormous. Little John was outraged, Will was furious, Djaq called her stupid, Much started speaking in tongues, and Robin was the worst, giving her that hollowed out stare, like she didn't exist to him.

When she tried to explain about Allan, things were even worse, and she was called a traitor, and more. Guy brushed her thigh at one point, while moving to her defense, and Robin's face turned a color she hadn't known existed. She could almost see the logic clicking into place in his mind, and before she could protest, he did the worst thing ever; he turned his back on her, and walked away.

She screamed after him, but she did not chase when he disappeared out of sight. She'd lost that right, she knew, and it was a searing pain.

Everything was falling apart, it was all her fault. She looked up at Guy, her final ally, and found his face grim as steel. His hand gripped his sword hilt so tightly it was shaking, and she stroked his arm, and whispered words to him to relax. He grabbed a few skeins of water, to Much's great protest, and walked back to the horse. She hesitated, only for a moment, and then followed. If no one else would help, they'd rescue Allan together.

She was too exhausted to lead, and let him take the reins this time, hugging him from behind, as though he were her tether not only to the ground but to her sanity.

She buried her face in his back and wept. To his credit, he did not speak, he only rubbed her hands and rode. She made him stop once, to drink, and rest. They might as well be lucid when they go in. He brought up her hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles, one by one, and drew her into his arms, kissing away her tears. This new intimacy was so overwhelming to her, it was almost frightening, but she let herself get wrapped up in it, let him comfort her, and drink her sorrows. It was sort of thrilling, too, to have his love again, and it urged her on. Once it was quiet again, they got back on the horse, and rode on towards Knighton.

The village was dark when they arrived, after tying up Isolde far from the clearing. It would make for a difficult getaway, but she'd be less likely spotted. Allan was tied up, near a fire, and surrounding him lounged ten of the knights they'd seen earlier in the day. A few were nursing wounds, but that left a few who weren't visible. That worried her. A silhouette inside one of the houses appeared to be Jasper, and someone else. Guy said it was Jasper's lieutenant.

It was clear that the knights were waiting for a rescue mission, and it destroyed her that there were only two of them able to make it. Two couldn't surround. The most they could hope for would be a distraction of sorts. She was working out the details, trying to figure out how to best divide them, when a hand tapped her shoulder, and clasped over her mouth. The same happened to Guy. She bit down on the hand, and tried to scream, when a familiar voice stopped her.

"Don't you understand, you idiot?" asked Much in a loud whisper, earning a shushing that sounded like it came from Djaq. Much rolled his eyes in the moonlight. "This is a _rescue_," he hissed and her heart buoyed. She threw her arms around his neck, and they both pulled apart, awkwardly, immediately after. She wouldn't try that on anyone else.

She turned to see Guy, rolling his eyes at whoever had just released him, and shaking his head at her. So he disapproved of her friends; that wasn't exactly unexpected. She shrugged it off.

Following gestures, they positioned themselves around the clearing, according to Will's instruction. They were to count, at specifically timed intervals, and make movements based on that counting. It was all very confusing, and she had the feeling this was something that the gang had practiced on their own, for multiple type situations. She felt again like an outsider, and knew she'd made the right choice, as per Guy. Why it was always going to be Guy.

The gang executed it beautifully, while she and Guy sidestepped around, clumsy oxen, and were lucky that they provided a distraction – quite by accident – while the others managed to spirit Allan away. It all happened so quickly, she wasn't even really sure of what was going on. Only that the frustrated cries of Prince John's men meant that Allan was safe; the mission was successful. She felt a wave of guilt roll off of her; the relief was sweet, intoxicating, and she almost lost her balance until Guy caught her by the middle, and pointed out that there was a pack of angry knights screaming behind the two of them.

And then, of course, they ran like hell into the woods.

* * *

Five Years Later

Marian hadn't planned on having a large family, but with Guy, large families seemed to be the rule of nature. Agatha and Prudence had glued themselves to her legs as she waddled about the kitchen, heavily pregnant as it was, trying to reach the door. She needed to talk to Isabella more about some of those special herbs she'd mentioned. When she reached the door, there was Allan, with a pretty blonde tucked under each arm, and a lazy grin. She didn't even bother letting him in, just sighed in relief as the children detached and flung themselves at the newcomers.

"You two ever think about slowing down?" he asked, staggering as Adelaide and a few of the dogs snuck past Marian's skirts and flung themselves into the growing Allan/kid/puppy pile.

"Just wash up," she scolded, and turned to his bewildered guests, asking them in.

In the power struggles that waged for the throne, they'd been passive actors, waiting for a place of their own. Neither Richard nor John favored Guy's plea for the return of his lands, and absent Robin's favor, they had no bargaining chips with Richard. She had been allowed to keep hers, but once the people of Knighton started trickling back in, and she looked at plans for a new manor house, she didn't know if she wanted to stay. There were too many memories there to count; she felt stifled. So they'd journeyed out, to find his sister, and see if she would take them in. A miserable venture that, as they'd encountered Isabella on the road to Nottingham, hoping for the same kindness in return. Apparently her husband had died in his sleep; some sort of illness. Despite this, Isabella Thornton was the happiest person she'd ever met. Isabella said she was very broken up about the death, and didn't want to talk about it; she wanted to move on with life. Brand new philosophy, take charge, and all that. Guy thought it suspicious, but Marian never asked, because that was personal, and she was so happy to have a sister-in-law.

Thus, with a sister in tow, and growing evidence that Marian was going to need to settle down somewhere, soon, they relocated back to Knighton, and took up in a house there, while waiting for the manor to be rebuilt.

And then the babies started coming, seemingly without end, like the Creator had decided that the earth must be peopled, and it must be with black haired, blue eyed little monsters. She loved each of her children, fondly, but she wished they'd give her a break once in a while, Adelaide, Agatha, Sophia, Fortitude, Prudence, Faith...why Guy felt like his children should be named after virtues and saints was always a source of amusement to her, but she kept her mouth shut, because it was sweet. She might draw the line at Chastity though, his next bizarre design, and rubbed her belly, absently, against the name.

Things weren't so bad. They had hard times and better times, times when his temper would nearly get the best of him and she would see that darkness rear up in him, that darkness that Vaizey had nourished so long, and so hard, and he would have to remove himself from her presence, for hours at a time. There were times when his quarrels with Isabella were so forceful, she wanted to throw them both out. It wasn't perfect, but no family was, but they loved each other, more than anything else, and they were getting by. He wasn't the same man she'd met all those years ago; she'd been afraid that with his power taken away from him, he'd find another Vaizey, trying to get it back. So far he hadn't, and she prayed it stayed that way.

Sometimes she missed Robin, missed his wit and his smile. She'd never really forgiven herself for how it had gone down, for hurting him, but she didn't regret the choice itself. And often when she found herself becoming sad, just then, Guy might walk up to her, holding a squealing two-year old, both of them covered in mud, and the scowls on their faces would make her laugh so hard she'd cry, and she'd forget why she was unhappy.

So, when Allan raised his glass at the Gisborne family dinner, and toasted his hosts to health, and love, and friendship, it was without regret that Marian could raise her glass.

Her life was filled with love, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

_The end._


End file.
